


Loudest Hearts

by crimsone



Category: Iron Man (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: AU, Bottom Tony, Dubious Consent, Height Differences, Human Sacrifice, Jotunn | Frost Giant, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Jötunn Loki, M/M, Sacrifice Tony, Size Difference, Top Loki, young adult Tony
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2018-08-31 05:36:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8566030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsone/pseuds/crimsone
Summary: Tony has been chosen as a sacrifice to the God of Lies, but Loki decides to spare his life.





	1. Chapter 1

The cold permeated his body as snowflakes drifted slowly onto his face, the smell of dying leaves coaxing him back into consciousness. After teetering on the precipice between wakefulness and darkness for what seemed like eternity, Tony finally blinked open his eyes, staring into the depths of the forest.

He was alone, and he couldn't move.

The boy was lying in a snowy clearing surrounded by looming trees and darkness. Once his vision had cleared Tony attempted to move as he surveyed his surroundings, seeing nothing but endless rows of trees stretching into an icy vastness. He recognized this place.

No, they couldn't have...

Panic shot through him in a rush causing him to struggle against the restraints, to no avail. Angry tears welled up in his eyes and he let out a pathetic, helpless whimper.

They chose him to be sacrificed. They left him here to die.

"No..." Tony bit out through gritted teeth. "No, _no_..."

His family, his own family chose to offer him up, to sacrifice him and save themselves.

Tony clenched his jaw and pressed his eyes shut as he tried and failed to hold back the tears blurring his vision.

_Cowards._

A vile mixture of fear, anger and hatred wound its way through his mind and gripped his heart. He would die knowing that his family didn't care about him, that he had been betrayed by the only people he'd thought he could trust.  _Fucking cowards._

It didn't take long before Tony succumbed to the pain, his body convulsing with quiet, breathless sobs. The pain was crushing, debilitating. He didn't know what was more devastating, the prospect of death or the realization that they never cared about him in the first place...

Eventually, Tony found himself sitting up with his bound hands resting forgotten in the snow. He stared down at the ground, the tears drying on his cheeks. Some vengeful part of him was urging him to free himself and find his way back to the village, but the pain kept him rooted to the ground.

Tony had no idea when he was brought here. He was weak and his limbs were numb from the cold. He felt stickiness on the back of his head and a dull ache throbbing in his skull -- he must have been knocked out several hours ago.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't dare move, didn't dare breathe as he waited for the beast, the creature that had been tormenting his people for decades. The creature that had been demanding a human sacrifice at least once a year and threatening to slaughter everyone else if they refused to comply.

He'd never expected to end up just another victim. Somehow, he'd always thought himself exempt from this kind of fate. It never occurred to him that his own parents were capable of doing such a thing.

Fear could drive people to do terrible things, apparently.

Tony had always been the one to urge his people to show resistance and fight, but they never did. They were terrified, hopeless to the point where they saw no choice but to sacrifice one of their own once every winter. It had turned into a dark, unspoken tradition that was feared but obeyed nonetheless.

He'd never seen the monster in person. Some claimed that it was a beast having no resemblance to a human, while others mentioned a deity, a powerful creature in the shape of a man. The beast was known for his cruelty, his bloodlust, his preference for pretty, young sacrifices. And no matter how pretty and young the sacrifices were, so far the beast had killed every single one of them.

And Tony knew he would end up the same way.

He didn't know how long he'd been sitting there, waiting for the inevitable. He'd known what was going to happen to him from the very beginning, but somehow the knowledge was only now beginning to sink in, settling heavy in his conscious mind. The mere idea of dying, the thought of being ripped apart, of his body being left out in the open for his family to find… He couldn’t stand it, couldn't wrap his mind around it.

Fear began to creep its way through his being and drown out all other emotions. Tony was suddenly aware of everything, the pain, the cold, the impending danger. The need to survive took over. He needed to do something, anything. He couldn’t stay there. He wouldn’t give the monster the satisfaction, he couldn't let _them_ succeed.

The boy looked around, surveying the clearing for anything he could use to cut through the rope -- a sharp edge of rock, a pointy branch, _anything_. But he was out of luck, and as soon as he attempted to push himself up onto his feet to move away from the clearing, he collapsed right back into the snow. He was too weak, too cold. The snow clinging to his thin clothes began to melt and the cold began to seep through the material and sink into his skin until it was almost unbearable.

Tony let out a short, frustrated cry. He tried it again, and again, forcing himself back onto his feet and eventually managing to drag himself away from the clearing.

He didn’t get far.

His heartbeat hammering in his ears, Tony ended up kneeling in the snow, panting softly, struggling to fill his lungs for a few moments before he realized he wasn’t alone.

Tony knew the creature was there before he saw it. He didn’t dare lift his head and look at it. Paralyzed with fear, all he could do was stare down at the ground, cowering like a small animal, eyes wide, his breath shallow as a long shadow stretched over him. The beast was a looming presence, silent and towering and terrifying. 

Suddenly, he felt long, cold fingers sliding into his hair and yanking his head back so hard Tony felt his neck on the verge of snapping. He found himself staring up into a pair of blood red eyes.

"You cannot run from me, little one," the god spoke with a deep, velvety voice. "It is not wise to tempt fate."

Tony stared up at him, rigid. Tears sprang to his eyes when the beast gave his hair a vicious twist and pulled him to his feet, but he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t dare avert his gaze, partly because he was too proud to let his fear show, and partly because he was too scared to look away.

He could barely make out the god’s features, but he could see the horns, the ornate lines carved into dark blue skin, his looming form towering several heads taller than Tony. The god was clad in fur and leather, bearing sharp features and emanating nothing but strength and pure malice. He was everything Tony had imagined and worse. The tales hadn’t been lying, after all.

Tony’s full height barely reached the god’s chest. The hand that kept a grip on his hair felt cold and deadly and yet gentle in a terrifying way, giving Tony a taste of what the creature was capable of. Tony didn’t move, aware that the god could crush his neck in an instant if he chose to.

Never had he felt so vulnerable, so weak, overwhelmed by the sheer force of the god’s presence, the otherwordly power that radiated from every fiber of his being.

The beast tilted his head to one side as he examined his prey with just the barest hint of curiosity. Tony tried to hold his gaze with what little determination and bravery he could muster. They were alone in the middle of a vast forest, and yet he felt trapped, as though every path was barred. He was at his mercy and he couldn't escape, and there was no point in trying now.

The creature began to slowly trail his eyes up and down Tony’s body, assessing, letting them rest on Tony’s mouth, his waist, his hips.

Tony felt completely exposed under his gaze. He couldn’t have looked more vulnerable if he'd tried, with the dried tears on his face and his body shivering in the cold as it was shielded by nothing but a barrier of wet clothes that clung to him like thin paper.

He froze when he felt the god’s other hand slide across his exposed neck, dragging across his chest and his waist, feeling its way down his thighs. Tony shuddered but didn’t move. There was an ancient longing in the god’s eyes, a different kind of hunger. Something that scared Tony in an entirely different way.

"Aren't you going to tell me your name?" the beast inquired softly. 

Tony remained silent and forced himself to stay still as he looked up at him. Expecting an answer, the god tugged at his hair and yanked his head back further, eliciting a pained gasp from the boy.

Tony glared up at him. "Tony Stark." He sneered. "’Tis a pleasure."

He knew he was playing with fire, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He had nothing left to lose.

There was now genuine curiosity lingering behind the dangerous glint in the beast's eyes. Tony raised his chin and offered him a defying look that didn't quite mask his fear. "You’re here to kill me, so what are you waiting for? Just get it over with."

A smile split the god's lips, revealing white fangs. "It is not my intention to kill you. Not yet. Whether you live or not depends entirely on you."

Tony stared up at him. He could feel angry tears burning his eyes. A quick death would have been welcome at this point, but even that was denied him, apparently.

He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. "Then what do you want?"

And there it was again, that look Tony couldn't decipher, that strange gleam in the beast's eyes. The god didn’t respond and gave him that unreadable look instead.

"What do you want?" Tony repeated, quieter this time, his throat tight with barely suppressed tears. His heart raced, his senses kicking into overdrive. He just wanted it to be over. "I’m right where you want me. I’m here, I’m trapped. Whatever it is you want to do – go ahead, do it already."

He couldn’t help but flinch when the god reached around him and pulled at the rope binding Tony’s hands. The creature gave it a gentle tug and the rope disappeared. It took Tony a moment to realize that his restrains were gone before he reluctantly moved his hands, flexing his numb fingers. His arms automatically folded across his chest as if they could somehow protect him from harm.

Tony hunched his shoulders to make himself smaller. He was a shivering mess, fighting back tears and unconsciously assuming a protective stance, but he still somehow managed to maintain a cold, defying look on his face as he looked up to meet the god's gaze.

The god tilted his head a little, offering him the sharpest of smiles. "I shall keep you alive for a little while longer. And maybe, if you prove your worth to me, I will let you go."

Magic was engulfing him before Tony could comprehend it, broad hands locking around his waist as he was ripped from reality for a fraction of a second. Before he knew it, he was finding himself looking at a large, dark room, somewhere far away from the forest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all the feedback! And one more thing — I know I've described Tony as a ‘boy’ in the first chapter, but he's around 20 years old in this story.
> 
> Anyways, hope you enjoy the next chapter.

As soon as the world settled back around them, Tony struggled to pull away from him. The beast wordlessly released his grip and let him take a few steps back.

Scared and wide-eyed and still reeling from what had just happened, Tony kept his arms wrapped around himself as he looked around. He was still alive. He was alive. He had expected something else, he'd thought he was going to die right there in that clearing, but this... this was different.

His eyes darted about the room as he took in his surroundings. The thicket of trees had been replaced by solid walls. It was still cold for some reason, his breath crystallizing in small puffs as the chill continued to seep into his bones despite the large fire crackling in the corner. There were pieces of heavy furniture covered with crude carvings, furs lying draped across the floor, stone walls rising high. He chanced a quick glance toward one of the tall windows only to find nothing but a grey sky hanging above a snowy emptiness with no end in sight.

"Where are we?"

The beast studied him calmly for a moment, his arms folded across his chest.

"Jötunheimr _._ "

Tony felt something tighten around his heart as his eyes snapped back to stare at him. Jotunheim. He had heard of Jotunheim, of other realms, of strange, far away places. Apparently they were more than just legends. If the creature was telling the truth, then… He had been brought to another realm, a place he knew nothing about. A place far away from home.

Tony ignored the surge of panic washing through him and forced himself to _focus_. He had been brought here for a reason. He bit his lip as he recalled the beast's words.

"You're letting me live?" He sounded more scared than hopeful. 

The god didn't respond right away, approaching him slowly instead. Tony stood still and kept his chin raised to feign pride, gathering every last bit of courage as he tried to keep himself from taking a step back.

The fire spilled enough light for him to clearly see the creature's face. The lines were visible on every patch of uncovered skin and seemed to create a pattern that stretched over his entire body. Dark hair tangled down to broad fur-clad shoulders. His features seemed sharper, his stature more threatening, more frightening, giving him an air of regality and pure strength.

A cold shiver cascaded down his spine when the god began to circle him, moving around him slowly, predatorily. Tony could feel his presence behind him, could hear the smile in his voice.

"For now, yes. And I will let you go, if you convince me of your worth."

Tony looked down at the ground. He knew he should be grateful. He'd been facing death and now he was being given another chance, and yet... He wasn't falling to his knees to express some kind of euphoric gratitude, he wasn't feeling the slightest desire to thank him for giving him another chance. In fact, he felt no gratitude at all.

"Why me?" Tony looked up at him. "Why didn't you spare the others?"

"I saw no reason to spare them," the god said quietly. "None of them managed to hold my interest."

A familiar heaviness settled in Tony's chest. All those sacrifices, all these people that had been turning up dead... They'd been deemed worthless, expendable. They hadn't been good enough.

Tony tightened his hold around himself as he struggled to keep all that fear and anger hidden under the protective veil of stiff-necked pride. The creature took a step closer to him, his height forcing Tony to crane his neck. And Tony stood perfectly still when long fingers trailed up his neck and grabbed his chin to tilt his face up roughly, cold lips inches away from his own.

"You should consider yourself lucky. I am giving you an opportunity to get out of this alive."

Tony gave a bitter huff. "I don't consider myself lucky." He took a step back, his body trembling as his hands clenched into fists.

He knew he should accept the offer, he knew it might be the only way to survive, and every rational part of his mind kept screaming at him to just do what the creature said, but he couldn't bring himself to give in. Pride and anger overrode his common sense and drowned out whatever survival instinct he possessed. 

Tony shook his head. "I don't need your mercy. I can't just _forget_  what you've done. What you did to my people, to my family..." He clenched his jaw, hot tears burning his eyes. The mere reminder of his family hurt, hurt more than he could bear, twisting his heart and making all the pent-up pain rise up. He hated him. He _hated_ him, hated him for what he had done, for taking all those lives, for making his own family betray him.

Tony glared up at him, the words spilling of their own accord. "My people have been nothing but miserable ever since you started tyrannizing us. You _destroyed_  our lives, you've killed people I knew, people I cared about!" He angrily wiped a stray tear away from his cheek. "I'm not going to beg and play along, I'm not going to submit to someone who has taken innocent lives!"

The god studied him silently, unfazed. Tony searched his eyes for any sign of guilt, for any indication that he was aware of all the pain he had caused. But there was no regret, no remorse. He was a true monster, empty inside and devoid of conscience -- a monster that toys with its prey and kills for killing's sake.

Tony's shoulders dropped, his voice suddenly quiet and broken. "...I didn't ask for this. I never wanted this." He gave a short, bitter laugh that sounded more desperate than sardonic. "You're wasting your time. You might as well just kill me now."

The god regarded him for a long moment, his expression impossible to read. Hugging himself, Tony watched him, waiting, foolishly clinging to his pride despite the fact that he was willingly wasting his only chance to survive.

"Then by all means, stay here and rot," the beast said calmly, and without sparing him another glance, he turned around to walk out of the room.

He left, the massive door slamming shut behind him. Tony stood frozen as the sound rang through the silence, his fists trembling at his sides, fresh tears welling as he swallowed the pitiful cry that rose up in his throat.

He stared at the door. He could leave, he could run out into the frozen wasteland and take his chances, but he quickly discarded the idea. He knew he wouldn't get far, even if he somehow managed to get outside.

He didn't know how long he'd been standing there with his mind and nerves a jumbled mess and with every single thought giving way to an onslaught of emotion. As he stood there alone, he realized just how much he missed home, just how painful it was to recognize that he might never be able to leave this place. The knowledge left a void in his chest, raw and painful like an open wound, and despite everything that had happened, despite everything his family had put him through, he wanted nothing more than to go home. 

Tony looked down at the ground and cursed softly under his breath.

He'd never felt more alone.

He eventually ended up moving over to a corner and sinking down onto the floor. He curled up, wrapping his arms around his legs and burying his face in his knees, still hoping he'd somehow wake up from this nightmare.


	3. Chapter 3

There seemed to be no difference between night and day in a place like Jotunheim, where the sky coalesced into a monotone shroud of leaden clouds above the endless plains of snow. Tony was sitting under one of the windows with his arms wrapped around his legs, keeping his face hidden in the crook of his arm, managing a small protective cocoon around himself. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but it must have been at least two days since he'd last seen the beast.

He'd spent two days pacing and brooding and breaking whatever objects he could find, his anger the only thing keeping him focused and fueling his hatred and keeping him on his feet as he'd paced around hurling things at the wall until there was nothing left to break.

But his anger had died down at some point, festering and turning into bitterness which was eventually gone as well, leaving behind nothing but a dull sense of clarity. After two days he was beginning to break under the weight of resentment, too worn out by emotion, too worn out to be angry, until he couldn't do more than sit in the corner and keep himself small and invisible as he simply dwelled on the surface of thought. 

Tony raised his head, blinking. 

He was alone. He'd been alone the entire time. The beast hadn’t returned, and he'd heard neither voices nor footsteps outside the door, not even once, nothing even remotely indicating the presence of other living beings.

Tony sighed and let his head drop back against the wall, stretching his legs out on the floor. He was surrounded by a mess of broken glass and shattered wood -- the result of his previous outbursts. There were small cuts on his hands from throwing and breaking things, his eyes were vacant, all colour drained from his skin.

After two days of complete and utter isolation, his limbs were beginning to grow heavy, weakness creeping up his arms and legs and his heart beating too hard and too fast. He knew if he waited long enough, his body would shut down entirely.

He drew in a long breath, gaze focused on the ceiling. This is what he’d wanted, isn’t it? This is what he’d asked for. 

This, all of this was happening because he chose it to be this way. He'd chosen this out of spite, too stubborn to give in, too proud to give the beast the satisfaction of seeing him break. Tony remebered himself doing the same thing when he was younger, when he would run away from home and not come back for hours or even days on end just to prove a point. And he would always get his way, always priding himself on his ability to maneuver his way out of messy situations.

But this wasn't that kind of situation. This was different. He'd been given a choice, and yet left with none. In the end, he chose dignity over freedom, and he'd been willing to pay for it with his life up until now. It was a decision he’d made in the heat of the moment, in the face of uncertainty, thinking that he would rather die than submit, convinced that nothing could be worse than giving up his dignity. But now...

Now that he was facing the cosequences of his own decision, now that he could feel weakness crawling up his body, he was beginning to doubt his own choice.

Strange, how it took him this long to realize that death was the one thing he was most afraid of. He'd been afraid of it from the moment he'd been left in that clearing, he just couldn't admit it until now. 

If he'd been as brave as he always pretended to be, he would stay here for the sake of defiance and starve to death with his pride intact. But he wasn't brave. He may have declared his willingness to die but those had been empty words. In the end, he couldn't resign himself to the prospect of death. Not now, not yet.

Tony cursed himself under his breath. He was a coward, just like everybody else.

He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to reign in his emotion, no longer having the strength to let it out. And every time he tried to shut off his mind, every time he tried to divert his thoughts toward something else, he'd always find himself thinking back to the only choice he had left.

He could accept the beast's offer.

Nothing was keeping him from leaving this room, from changing his mind and agreeing to the deal. All he had to do was comply. All he had to do was play along, ignore his pride, ignore the fear twisting his guts.

That sounded so simple, just so damn simple.

He felt his eyes burn and squeezed them shut, shaking his head. He couldn't _stand_ the thought of submitting to him, to someone he hated with all of his being…

Tony angrily wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand and forced himself to his feet.

He took a shaky breath, his arms sliding around his frame as he slowly approached the fireplace, at this point trembling as much from weakness as from the cold. He watched the flames flicker and curl, providing at least a semblance of warmth. He edged closer, crouching down into the fur rugs and carefully stretching out his hands toward the fire to let them hover over the flames. Warmth wound its way up his icy hands, making the cold at least a little more bearable.

Tony sat still for a moment, watching the flames dance beneath his hands. Then he found his attention wandering over to the door.

He knew it wasn't locked. He knew he was free to leave the room if he changed his mind.

Maybe he could find another way. Maybe, somewhere out there, was a way for him to get out of this place without having to reconcile himself to the choice he was given. He didn't know what to do, didn't know if he could ever escape this place, but he knew he had to do _something_. He knew he wanted to survive.

Tony eyed the door for a moment, then looked down at the floor. He lowered his hands into the fur skin lying at his feet and ran his fingers through the soft material. He'd need something that would shield him from the cold. His clothes were thin and torn and useless at this point. After a moment’s hesitation, he gathered the fur into his hands and draped it across his shoulders. It wasn't much but it was better than nothing.

Then, slowly, the youth rose to his feet and approached the door. He put his ear to it and listened. Nothing. He proceeded to open it but ended up standing motionless, fingers gripping the handle as he struggled to gather the courage to leave the room. It was strange -- he'd felt more or less safe here, never knowing what was out there. Never thinking that he would ever leave this room again. But that didn't matter anymore. He couldn't stay here.

Drawing a breath and finally coming to a decision, Tony opened the door and stepped out into the hallway which stretched off into blackness in both directions. He stood still for a moment, as if waiting for something to prevent him from going any further, but nothing happened. No movement, no sound except his harsh, shallow breathing.

He glanced at his room, which didn’t seem so unwelcome anymore, then back into the darkness, before he slowly began to make his way down the hallway.

There were no doors on either side, only walls made of solid ice and stone with a ceiling so high it vanished from sight. The air seemed colder now, much colder, permeating what little clothing he had and relentlessly seeking his bones. Pulse thudding in his ears, Tony pulled the furs tight around himself as he progressed further into the darkness. Every sound made him stop and listen, every fiber of his being alert.

The longer he walked, the more his prison was beginning to reveal itself to be a palace. Like the ones in stories, dark and vast, with endless halls and iridescent walls made of ice that never melted. Maybe this used to be a kingdom one day, and all that was left was the palace itself, surrounded by nothingness like the carcass of a giant beast rising from a snowy desert. 

He didn't come across a single soul. He would stop and wait and listen but he would never hear any voices or movement. Occasionally, he would walk past a window providing a view over icy, barren landscapes that were nothing like the timbered grasslands back home, nothing suggesting that he wasn't completely and utterly alone in the entire realm. 

The corridor was endless, seemingly leading nowhere. But eventually, it ended in a wide, dimly lit hall that was lined with doors.

Tony hesitated, stuck still in the middle of the hallway. They all looked the same — there was no right choice to make. He was tempted to just turn around and go back, but he knew it was too late for that. He couldn't go back, not now.

He began to carefully approach every door. Some of them were locked, others leading into other hallways, dead ends with no escape in sight. The last one, however, opened into another room.

Tony stood still for a moment, his hand resting on the handle. He waited, making sure there was no one there before he went inside, only to freeze in his tracks the moment he stepped through the door.

He found himself staring at the remnants of a room. What seemed to have once been a richly furnished bedroom was now a clutter of shattered objects and broken furniture. Tall windows obscured by torn, heavy curtains, faint light spilling from the embers of a dying fire. There was a massive bed that hadn't been used in a long time, the sheets torn and rumpled. Everything was ripped and clawed to shreds, nothing left unscathed.

His first instinct was to bolt out of the room, but instead, Tony proceeded to step through the doorway. 

He stared at the wreckage, then began to cautiously pick his way through the mess, skirting fallen furniture as he moved further into the room. Broken objects were scattered everywhere, remnants of what once was. Shards of glass glittered in the grim light and snapped under his boots with each step he took. Some windows were shattered, snowflakes drifting into the room through the curtains and gently settling on debris.

Apprehension filled his chest and held his heart in a cold grip. Something horrible must have happened here a long time ago. There was something desperate, something feral about the destruction. This had probably been done by the beast, but Tony couldn’t help but wonder what could have driven him to do something so violent, something so desperate. 

With the intention of leaving this place as soon as possible, Tony started pushing and kicking through the mess hoping to find something, anything that could be of use to him, anything that could be used as a weapon. He looked through every corner and examined every inch, only to end up standing in the middle of the room surrounded by clutter, eventually resigning to the fact that there was nothing to be found.

Tony pulled the furs around himself and turned to leave. And just as he was about to step through the door, something caught his eye.

An ornately carved ivory handle sticking out of the surface of an overturned table. Tony hesitated before he approached it and grabbed the handle with both hands, pulling free an old hunting knife that had been jammed into the table a long time ago. Tony let out a breath of relief, unable to suppress a small smile as he let his fingers glide along the blade. 

Strangely enough, it seemed to have been made on Earth. The handle was made of bone, hand-carved, reminiscent of the weapons he would see back home. From the way it was made, he could tell that it had once been meant to be a gift to someone.

He noticed something else, something engraved into the handle. Four letters, weathered and barely visible among the patterns. He slowly turned the knife between his fingers as he attempted to make out the word. It was a name.

_Loki._

He frowned, tracing his fingers along the letters, before he moved to tuck the knife under the furs.

"I was wondering when I would find you here, little one."

Tony almost dropped the knife as he whipped around, facing the beast standing in the doorway.


	4. Chapter 4

His heart drumming in his chest, Tony backed away, holding the knife in a vice-like grip. The beast regarded him calmly for a moment before he began to approach him with slow steps.

"So you’ve changed your mind after all."

Tony didn't say a word. He raised the knife instead and pointed it at him in silent warning.

The creature continued to draw closer with soundless steps as if there was nothing amiss, his long fur cloak dragging behind him across the floor. He appeared unfazed by Tony’s wordless threat, the air growing colder and heavier around them as he approached the youth.

He clicked his tongue in mock admonishment, his voice carrying an almost conversational tone. "How rude of you to threaten me with my own weapon."

Tony huffed, his mouth curling into a bitter smile. "I'm not the rude one here."

The beast merely returned his smile and stepped closer causing Tony to draw back, broken glass gently cracking under their feet. Tony kept the knife pointed at the god's chest but the weapon did nothing to make him feel safer, to make him feel like he had even the slightest semblance of control.

"What exactly are you hoping to accomplish?" The god’s tone was almost gentle, like he was soothing a child. None of this seemed to surprise him, as if he’d known this would happen all along, as if he'd expected Tony to end up right here in this room.

Tony raised the knife higher with a trembling hand.

"I want you to let me go."

Another smile crossed the god's features, sharper this time. "Oh, but it doesn't work like that, Anthony. We had a deal."

"There is no deal. I never agreed to this. I never wanted this." Tony's voice was low, weak, the only indication that he was terrified. "I just want to go home."

The creature took a step closer and Tony took one back.

"And where will you go?" The god tilted his head to one side. "You have no home. Your family left you for dead."

"Because yougave them no choice!" Tony snapped. He shook his head, took another step back."They need me. I need to go back."

"The rules haven't changed, Anthony. If you want me to let you go, you'll have to fulfill your end of our agreement. It is as simple as that."

All Tony could do was shake his head in hopeless denial. There was so much he wanted to say to him, there was so much hatred and bitterness locked in the forefront of his mind, but the words caught in his throat and wouldn’t leave his mouth, dying unuttered. He was gripping the knife with both hands like a lifeline, as if it would somehow keep him from giving in under the weight of uncertainty.

The god stepped closer until he was standing only inches away from the blade. 

"You can’t have it both ways, little one. You can’t leave this place without giving me what I want. No matter how much you try to hide from reality, no matter how hard you try to escape me, you will always end up right where I want you."

Tony stared up at him, wide-eyed, fingers tensing around the weapon. And there it was, the feeling of utter helplessness, the one thing he’d been trying to keep buried ever since he’d been brought here. 

Because the beast was right, _he was right_ and they both knew it. Tony had been trying to circumvent reality, clinging to hope like a fool, fighting back every step of the way -- only to end up right where he started.

The youth's eyes flicked away, down to the ground, searching nothing. He heard the god’s voice again, low and quiet and closer this time. "You can deny it all you want, but your life is in my hands now. So if you want to go home, you’ll have to do as I say." He smiled softly. "Or you can go back and starve yourself to death. I will not stop you."

Tony clenched his jaw and looked up at him.

It would be easy to give up.

He'd been toying with this idea since the beginning, and now that he was facing reality, now that he no longer had any control over his own life, the idea of surrender was beginning to seem so much more tempting.

It would be so easy to give up, just once, just for a little while, so he could finally leave this place.

Again, Tony shook his head. He was visibly torn, the decision ripping at his conscience as he stood there, unable to say a word.

The beast waited, searched his gaze with some sort of quiet, amused fascination. "You have a brave heart, little one. But I am patient. You will make the right choice eventually."

With that, he turned around and walked back toward the door to leave Tony standing there with the knife still raised.

Tony bit his lip. Each thought clashed with another; everything the god had just told him and all the fear and pain and hatred seemed to wash over him in the same surge of emotion he’d felt back in the forest, the same need to fight back even though it would  be easier to surrender.

But if the creature left now, Tony would once again find himself back in that room, in the same inescapable whirl of useless decisions. All he would have left was his pride, that worthless pride, the very reason he was still standing here with the illusion that he had some sort of control over his fate.

And somehow, the thought of going back to an empty room, of returning to restlessness and starvation, was worse than any act of surrender.

He had to end this. If he wanted to go home, he would have to comply.

Tony let out a shaky breath and lowered the knife. And before he could stop himself, he spoke up.

"Wait."

The beast stopped. He turned around, the faintest hint of a knowing smile curving his lips.

Tony knew what he had to say, the words lingering on the tip of his tongue, but it took all of his courage to say them out loud.

"…You wanted to make a deal, so let’s make a deal."

The god tilted his head a little but remained silent. Tony drew a breath and let the knife slip from his hand, hearing it clatter to the ground as he took a step forward.

"I'll prove my worth to you. I’ll do whatever you want. For one night."

The god narrowed his eyes. "Are you trying to negotiate with me, Anthony?"

"One night," Tony repeated. His conscience was screaming at him to stop, to _just stop talking_ , but he'd already made up his mind. "You can have me for one night. In return, you'll let me go."

"I'm afraid that's not enough."

"It's more than enough."

There was a moment of silence before the beast stepped forward, drawing closer until he was standing right in front of Tony. He was close, too close, but Tony didn't move, standing his ground.

"You’ll have to offer me more than just your body."

Tony craned his neck to look up at him, making himself look braver than he actually was. "It's all I have. It's all I can give you." He was shaking, he was _terrified_ , but his voice was firm, insistent. "This is what you wanted, right? So just say yes. Take me tonight, do whatever you want to me, and let me go."

The beast didn't speak for a long moment. His eyes traveled down Tony’s body with an interest that hadn’t been there before, something that betrayed his curiosity, the fact that he was tempted to accept the offer. But if he did feel even a trace of desire toward Tony, there was an obvious sense of self-restraint keeping him from acting on it.

Tony knew what he had to do. He took a step closer, looking up at him through his lashes. His voice was low and soft now, his expression one of promise and desperate pleading. An expression of pure submission.

"Please, Loki." 


	5. Chapter 5

This time, Tony had his attention.

The beast started to come closer, and closer still, and Tony stepped back only to have him follow.

Loki's expression was laced with curiosity, with hunger, with the same kind of longing Tony had caught a glimpse of back in the forest. And he kept moving backwards into the ruins through rubble and glass while keeping his attention trained on the god, luring him in with sweet words and an innocent smile.

"It's a fair offer, you can't deny that..."

Wordlessly, Loki backed him further into the room until Tony bumped into the edge of a table, standing perfectly still as he allowed Loki to corner him. The beast was blocking his line of sight, his chest at eye level, his arms bracketing the youth in place as they rested on the table on either side of his body.

"I give myself to you, and you give me back my freedom. Sounds like a good deal to me," Tony said softly, looking up at him through lidded eyes.

Loki leaned down until their faces were inches apart. "A deal that has been offered to me countless times before."

Tony bit his lip, balling his hands into fists. The reminder of the previous sacrifices stung, but he forced himself back into his act and closer to the god, craning up to him as he lowered his voice to a soft purr.

"But maybe I'm different. Maybe I won't disappoint you."

Loki glanced down at Tony's lips, then back up to meet his eyes.

"And what makes you think you're different?"

Tony stared up at him, trying to come up with the perfect lie. Wide doe eyes darted across Loki's face, his bottom lip caught between his teeth, hunched shoulders making his small body look even smaller. He knew he was doing a miserable job of hiding his fear, his expression a curious mixture between fake lust and apprehension, innocence at odds with deep-seated pride. He looked desperate. Pitiful. And hopefully, it was exactly what Loki wanted to see.

"You haven't killed me yet." Tony gave him a shaky smile. "That makes me different. I'm special to you."

"Are you, Anthony?"

"I know I am." Tony searched his eyes. "It's the only reason I'm still alive." He managed to push his fear to the farthest reaches of his mind and _touch_ the god, reaching out and placing his palm on his chest. "You're curious about me."

Loki didn't object, neither denying nor agreeing with Tony's words. His gaze kept trailing across Tony's mouth, his neck, his chest, but he didn't say a word, never voicing his intentions. And Tony hated his silence, hated that he never knew what Loki was thinking, never sure whether his words had any impact on Loki's decision at all.

He had caught his interest, but mere promises weren't enough. He knew Loki was waiting for something more.

So he ended up raising himself on tiptoe and reaching up with warm, trembling hands to grasp the back of Loki's neck. Tony tugged him down and craned his neck until it hurt and brushed his lips over Loki's for the fraction of a moment. His tongue peeked out and shyly met a cold shut mouth only to withdraw the next second.

Whatever it was, it couldn't be called a kiss, too fleeting to be anything more than the ghost of a touch -- an invitation, a desperate offering.

Tony stared at him, hoping it worked and hoping it didn't work, equally terrified of both rejection and acceptance.

"I'm yours tonight. At your mercy." The words sounded foreign to his own ears, his mouth still close enough to send warm gentle puffs of air over Loki's lips as his eyes darted back and forth between the beast's.

A startled shiver cascaded down his body when he was drawn forward against Loki's chest, against hard muscle and lean limbs, cold lips lowering to his neck as broad heavy hands settled around his waist. Loki's touch was cold, cold and brimming with a dormant strength that had Tony feeling boneless, powerless. His breath came in little gasps but he didn't recoil, allowing the god to touch him, allowing him to be close.

Shaking with expectancy, Tony reached for Loki's hands and guided them down, down his sides, his hips, his thighs. And then he was pressing himself closer and nestling against the god's body as he reached for him, reaching all the way down, dragging his hand down a broad chest and down his front until he found his crotch and cupped the god through the leather.

An inhuman growl rumbled so deep and low in Loki's chest that it appeared to fill up the air and go right under Tony's skin. Shifting closer, the god canted his hips into his hand and sighed into the delicate hollow of Tony's neck.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" Tony murmured, squeezing and rubbing Loki's crotch with his palm. He could feel him getting hard, could feel it heavy in his hand.

"Don't you want me, Loki?" He asked again, soft and desperate, trying to get him to accept the offer, trying to get him to seal the deal.

And it worked.

Loki suddenly grabbed his waist and flipped him around, bending him over the table. Tony chocked on a gasp and gripped the edges, too afraid to speak or breathe when large hands dragged along the sides of his body. He lay there, relinquishing himself to the beast, Loki's hands groping and stretching across his back and hips and out over the curve of his bottom in greedy strokes.

Tony began to encourage him by pressing himself back into his hands, by raising his hips in the air and peering up at him over his shoulder as he curled his spine in a languid arch. And he hated how needy he made himself look, how disgustingly desperate he appeared to be. He was a coward because he had chosen the cheapest way out, but he kept going, he kept up the act.

"Come on..." He cooed, pushing his hips into the god, rubbing himself against his groin to try and coax him out of his composure, and it was primal and filthy and nothing more than a desperate attempt to appeal to the darkest facets of Loki's nature.

_It's just for one night._

An ancient impulse seemed to flood the god's senses and drown out all thought. Loki was arching his hips and grinding against him and all Tony could do was give himself up by feigning greed and lustful fervor, mewling and moaning and hoping that he had him wrapped around his finger.

Because it would only last for one night. And then he would be free.

Then it would finally be over.

Long fingers dipped under his shirt to feel the warmth of tanned satiny skin. Cold sensation hit him making Tony hiss and arch his back. His shirt rode up, dangling uselessly off his shoulders as he showed himself to Loki, curling into him, giving himself to him.

Loki's lips hovered over the back of his neck sending cold puffs of air and ripples of shivers down his spine, and every touch seemed to scorch his skin and grow more and more impatient as Loki pushed at his clothes and pressed himself down onto the shaking little heap that was Tony's body.

Reaching behind himself, Tony covered Loki's hands with his own in silent encouragement. Ragged breath caught in his throat and his heart knocked violently against his ribs, but he tried to appear shameless, tried to sound needy when he breathed out his name and begged to be taken as he pressed himself back into Loki's hips and the roaming hands that kept tugging at his clothes with greedy impatience.

And then, with a quick sweeping motion that caught him off guard and cut off his breath, Tony was lifted, weightless. Broad hands forced him against a hard chest, carrying him across the room and dropping him into the mess of tattered sheets on the bed.

Tony felt the bed dip as the beast leaned over him, felt himself cower under his looming, overwhelming presence. A strong hand fisted in his hair and pulled his head back hard, Loki's lips brushing against the shell of his ear.

"Go ahead then, little one. Try and change my mind."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one’s a bit longer, and this is where the explicit rating kicks in. Hope you guys enjoy.

There was nothing people wouldn't do to survive, nothing they wouldn't give up to save their own skin. And Tony was no exception to that. All that meaningless pride, wasting itself until there was nothing left but a sense of reality. All those useless barriers building themselves up only to be torn down again. Tony finally understood that there was no easy way out, not unless he gave himself up, which was something he should have done in the very beginning.

Pain rippled through his scalp when Loki gripped his hair, but Tony bit his tongue and leaned back into him with deliberate sensuousness, as though there was nothing he enjoyed more. He pressed himself closer to the beast, his body small and warm against Loki’s own, his bottom nestled right up against Loki’s hips. He made himself do all those things, made himself submit, forget his fear, that ever-present fear that had been festering in the pit of his soul ever since he saw the disfigured bodies of the previous sacrifices for the very first time.

Now all he could do was _pretend_ , pretend that Loki wasn’t the monster that had killed all those innocent people, maintain his sweet, simpering act and bury his hatred alongside his wide-eyed inexperience. But his inexperience was something he couldn't hide, because he had never done this before, not like this. The only experience he had comprised of a few hasty moments shared with strangers in dark corners, with men he had allowed to get close but never close enough to go all the way, moments that had never taught him anything beyond instinct. And here he was, still wide-eyed, still clueless, knowing nothing of intimacy and what it might entail.

Tony turned around in his hold and reached out to tug at Loki’s clothes with clumsy fingers. He appeared eager in the shyest of ways, unable to meet Loki's gaze as he plucked at the leather straps of his armor and pushed aside the material to reveal a broad chest and a spread of blue skin leading down to sharp juts of hipbone. Slowly, he flattened his hands on the god’s chest, dragged them down the pattern of raised lines and firm muscle as Loki's eyes followed his movements in silent curiosity.

Loki was different, felt different. Different than any man Tony had ever been with before. Loki was much older than him, an eternal existence betrayed by old scars and the cruelty of an ancient predator. He was experienced, more mature, and nothing like mortal men who were so easy to please, so easy to mislead. Tony stared at his own hands which were still pressed up against the god’s chest, and he felt the strength pulsing right beneath his cold skin, felt every muscle that had been shaped by centuries of battle and war. He wondered how many sacrifices had been right where he was right now, trying to save their own lives by reducing themselves to coy little smiles and desperate lies, sacrifices who had been just like Tony, scared and with nothing to offer. Nothing except a willingness to give him everything he’d had left.

But it had to be enough. It couldn't be impossible to seduce the beast, to provide a pitch of desire he couldn't resist. Because Loki was just a man, wasn't he? Beneath all that ancient blood and otherworldly strength, Loki couldn't be more than just another man with a weakness for pretty faces and naked skin.

So Tony let him put his hands wherever he pleased, let them go under the hem of his shirt and send icy fingertips grazing over warm skin, tracing the gentle bow of his ribs. Tony shook with shivers and little gasps, allowed himself only a moment of hesitation before he began to take off his clothes while letting Loki watch, letting him observe every movement.

Tony pulled his shirt over his head in one graceless motion, discarded his boots, slid his pants down his hips and kicked them off, shedding the only remaining barrier between himself and vulnerability, exposing himself to the beast. He knelt naked before him, small and scared and shrinking under his gaze, his bare skin velvety golden in the warm flickering firelight as he clenched his hands in his lap and looked up at Loki with wide eyes.

And Loki looked right back at him, drank him in, reached out and cupped the back of the young man's head to test his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. Tony opened his mouth and gently took in the tip of it, licking at it in a wordless suggestion. He tried to show eagerness in so many ways, but he felt small, impossibly young, and more vulnerable than ever before.

“You're terrified,” Loki said gently, doing nothing to keep the hint of irony from seeping into his voice as he ran his thumb across Tony's bottom lip. “Finally stripped of all pretense...”

Tony lowered his eyes, looked away, turned his face into his palm and nuzzled the skin there, a silent submission that only seemed to confirm Loki's observation. 

“I am. And I’m yours.”

He peered up at the beast through lowered lashes and bent his head, bringing his lips low, lower, until he was mouthing at Loki's groin, teeth dragging across leather. A barely audible sigh of satisfaction came from above, followed by long fingers finding their way into his hair and drawing his face closer, tangling and tugging at the soft chestnut strands.

He was pulled back by another tug at his hair, his mouth still inches away from Loki’s crotch as the god reached down and undid the remaining straps to free the full length of his cock, bringing it to Tony’s mouth, pressing it to the warmth of his parted lips. Tony closed them around the tip and grazed it with his tongue, staring up at the god with a shy sense of helplessness, as if waiting to be told what to do.

He had expected Loki to take control and have his way with him, he had expected to be pushed down and taken until the god was satisfied. And Tony would have preferred that, he would have preferred to just lay there and be used, but Loki didn't content himself with that, he didn't take control, just waiting for Tony to fulfill his end of their bargain, watching the youth crumble under the burden of complete and utter submission.

Tony bit his lip and dipped his head, wrapped both hands around Loki's cock and parted his lips to let the pink tip of his tongue drag up and down from base to crest. It felt heavy in his hands as he tried to fit his lips around it, but he couldn't take in more than the tip, unable to do anything other than leave open-mouthed kisses and shy little licks, sending warm puffs of breath skittering across cold rigid flesh.

Loki barely gave a sound, the only encouragement coming from his broad hand cupping the back of his head, guiding his mouth into the right angles, long fingers idly mussing through his hair. Fingertips stole along the ridges of his spine, making him curl and arch like a cat into the god's touch.

He licked a long stripe down the underside of Loki's cock, looking up at him with a gentle pout, lashes drooping as he slipped two fingers into his own mouth and then reached behind himself to push them in, slow and reluctant, to stretch himself open. 

He had never been taken and never been so close to another man before. All he knew was that he would have to prepare himself, lie down and spread his legs for Loki, pretend like there was nothing he wanted more. He worked his tongue and moved his hand, pleasuring Loki and fingering himself, his movements helplessly skilless and careful as he delivered a string of moans to give the impression of raw pleasure. Until Loki stopped him.

The beast reached over him, pushed his hand away and shoved two fingers inside of him to replace Tony's own, as if to show him how it was done properly. Loki's fingers were almost twice as long and wide as his own, and they lacked Tony's hesitation, pushing in deep, drawing a sharp cry of pained surprise from the youth as his spine bent under an invisible weight, his body jerking forward to escape the intrusion.

This was different, so different than anything he knew or thought he knew. Loki was working him open with sharp deliberate strokes, and as if Tony had forgotten that pleasure existed, the sudden surge of raw bliss erupting from his core when Loki touched an unknown spot inside of him threw his senses tumbling into turmoil. He moaned around his length and pushed back into his hand, and he had never felt so good and so afraid at the same time before.

It was painful and it felt good. He wanted it to stop and he wanted him to keep going.

But he didn't want to enjoy it. He couldn't. Not with Loki. It would have been so much easier to focus on the pain, but something kept pulling him back into the throes of pleasure while keeping a firm hold on him without ever letting go. And Loki kept playing that tiny bundle of nerves sending tendrils of liquid fire through his body, trapping him in an onslaught of pleasure and pain that almost made him forget about his act for a short torturous moment.

"Loki..." He was keening, and then he was begging.

He was begging, begging for Loki to get it over with. He wanted it to end, the pain, the pleasure, that strange unnamed thing growing in his chest and clinging to his heart like a parasite. He pulled away, turned around, spread his legs.

"Loki...Please..."

Pressing the side of his face into the bed to steady himself, Tony raised his hips in the air and reached behind himself to spread his cheeks with both hands, holding himself open, putting himself on whorish display for the beast.

"Please--" His senses teetered on a knife's edge threatening to shatter at any moment. Every cell of his body was consumed with pain and resentment and the pull of overwhelming pleasure, and he hated it, he _hated_ it, he wanted it to be over, he wanted all of it to be over.

Loki watched him, eyes half-closed, jaw set tight, an expression of restrained lust. He seemed absorbed in the way Tony called out to him, in the lure of his helpless, broken beauty, until finally, he gave in to the temptation.

He settled behind Tony, tall and towering and trapping the youth between himself and the bed. His hand went between Tony's legs, nudged them further apart. He groped Tony's thighs, his bottom, spreading his cheeks, and when he moved his hips, things became a blur.

A sharp sound, a scream, so foreign and so full of agony and pleasure that Tony barely realized that it came from his own mouth when Loki rolled his hips and breached him and _filled_ him. And Tony was gone, breaking, white-knuckled fingers gripping the sheets tautening the material across quivering hands, eyes pressed shut so tight stars exploded behind closed lids, lips falling open to give way to a wail of pleasured pain. He writhed, curled into himself and then back against the god to meet each and every thrust.

And somehow, somehow he managed to turn his cries into throaty moans, make his back bend in pretty ways and raise his hips high off the bed and right into Loki’s hands. He opened himself to him, to everything he wanted, giving Loki all the control so that he was left with none. The beast held himself above Tony’s smaller body, crowding him, pulling out only to drive all the way back in with enough force to send Tony sliding back and forth on the bed. Tony was too small for him, too tight, chocking on moans that bordered on sobs as he received every thrust with suffocated eagerness. Loki was hurting him and he was making him feel good, and the pleasure was something that frightened Tony more than pain ever could.

They fell into an irregular rhythm of hitched breathing and the sound of skin hitting skin, and Tony was too caught up in mindless pretense to notice the cold pair of hands pulling him up and shifting his ragdoll body into the god's lap, changing their position. They were impossibly close yet so far apart, and Tony was losing awareness of everything beyond the onrush of unknown, unwelcome sensations which weren't so unknown and unwelcome at all. Anchored by strong hands clamped around his thighs, his back pressed up against the god's chest, Tony found himself moving, bouncing up and down on Loki's lap, riding him, each breath struck quivering before it was knocked from his lungs with violent force with every thrust.

His act was slipping, and so were his senses, and it was so hard to keep feigning feelings when he didn't even understand what he was feeling. Loki began thrusting his hips upward to meet Tony's own, letting them collide, shaking him to his core. He kept crying out Loki's name and reaching behind himself to blindly grope for long dark locks, letting his head fall back onto the god’s shoulder. He felt the carved texture of Loki's cold skin against his back, Loki’s rhythmic breath tickling the line of his jaw, too close, too intimate.

And amongst all of this, stirring somewhere within his chest, was the feeling of hope, irrational and growing in intensity. He knew Loki was now bound to their deal. Loki owed him freedom, in exchange for his body, in exchange for _this_. He had to let him go.

After tonight, Loki would let him go. He couldn't afford to think otherwise.

Buoyed by hope, by anticipation, Tony absorbed himself in pain and pleasure and abandoned all inhibition, giving himself over to Loki's will entirely. He moaned for him, offered him the warm pulsing skin of his neck, spread his legs wider, leaned further into Loki's heaving chest. He clamped down around him as he impaled himself on him, driving them both toward something unknown.

But whenever he would get close enough to peak, Loki would slow the pace, buying more time, extending the night into an endless back and forth of approaching release that seemed beyond reach. Tony accepted it, reduced to a mewling mess existing to be done with as Loki pleased. Time wore away, expending itself in blurry moments that might have lasted for hours, or maybe mere minutes, Tony didn't know.

And when Loki touched him for the first time, when he wrapped his hand around him and gave one gentle stroke, Tony was falling. Tipping over the edge and falling into the rush of release swelling slowly and cresting rapidly in the depths of his guts, washing white and blinding through his body only to ebb as suddenly as it had erupted. His toes curled and his fingers dug into Loki's legs, mouth falling open in a strangled cry. Something warm and sticky covered his stomach and chest in white ribbons, and he was left with tingling aftershocks suffusing his body as he went slack, melting, not a bone left in his body.

He didn't hear the soft sigh of satisfaction near his ear, didn't feel the pulsing wet heat spilling inside him, nor the stabbing pain when Loki pulled out and withdrew. Whether he was laid down or whether he simply collapsed on the bed he didn't know. All he knew was that it was over, and that he could finally let darkness descend.

          

* * *

 

Tony didn't know how long he was treading the line between sleep and unconsciousness, suspended within the strange, mindless nothingness existing somewhere between numbness and dull pain. The color of the sky had shifted from pitch black to faded grey and the blaze of the fireplace had finally died down to embers, indicating that several hours must have passed.

Loki was still there when he woke up.

The god was sitting on the edge of the bed with his back turned to him, hands idly working to fasten the straps of his armor back into place. Tony was lying on his stomach and slowly shifted onto his side. He noticed the sheets that had been draped over him, the faint light filtering in through broken windows. Not nearly enough time had passed for his mind to have cleared and the pain to have fully caught up with him, so all that was left was the dull, distant aftertaste of pain and emotion.

He couldn't speak for a long moment, a coppery taste burning his sore throat resulting in every sound getting stuck and falling dead. Loki was taking his time rearranging his clothing, but as soon as he stood and moved toward the door, Tony found himself speaking, quiet and hoarse, from where he was lying curled up on the bed.

"Your promise, Loki."

The beast stopped and glanced over at him. He was calm, so unsettlingly impassive, as though nothing had happened at all.

"What promise?"

Tony swallowed, closed his eyes for a moment. "Your promise," he repeated, shifting onto his elbows to look at him while using every ounce of his strength to hide the dread swelling up inside of him. "Aren't you going to let me go?"

Loki's expression was impossible to decipher, something Tony couldn't understand, didn't want to understand.

"I never promised you anything."

Tony slowly pushed himself up onto his hands, ignoring the painful jump his heart gave.

"You accepted the deal."

"I never accepted it, Anthony. Like you said, we never had an agreement."

Tony gripped the sheets tight, and he seemed to shrink into himself, his body becoming smaller, his face becoming pale, all eyes. He couldn't think, thinking was too hard. He was suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to wail and scream, only for it to instantly be replaced by something else, by the fact that he wasn't angry at all, not even surprised. There was no resentment, no anger, only the strange feeling of having his fears confirmed.

Loki was never going to let him go.

Even when he was offering him the deal, even as he was giving himself to him, he had known it was going to end like this. He had _known_ , and still he had done it, _still_ he had given him everything he'd had left...

Because of hope, because of this _useless_ notion of hope, the hope that somehow, Loki's mind could be changed.

Tony sat quietly for a long moment, tears burning but never falling. He could suddenly feel every bruise that Loki had caused and every inch that Loki had touched, and he wanted nothing more than to shed his skin, to shed every memory of every emotion Loki had made him feel.

He didn't say anything when Loki watched him with that same unreadable expression, he didn't beg or try to stop him when Loki turned around and left. Because he was tired, so tired. Too tired to keep the pain away, too tired to keep himself from succumbing to the weight of hopelessness. He had given Loki everything, everything he had to offer, and now he was left with nothing.

He had no one to blame but himself.

So for the first time, he let himself succumb. Sitting alone, lost among the remains of the room, Tony looked down at his lap, before he lowered his face into his hands and let the tears come, his body wracked with quiet, breathless sobs.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s time to introduce a new character! Also, the chapter starts with a dream/flashback. Sorry for the long wait and hope you enjoy.

Tony’s home was everything from the smithy with its sulfuric smell of burning coal and brimstone to the shadowy stands of pine and oak and dogwood lining the sides of the creek stretching toward the vast reaches of the forest. Mountains rising pale and obscured into the firmament where their snowy crests disappeared from sight. Flowering plants blossoming in his mother’s gardens, patches of peony and trillium, prairie roses and goldenrod, purple lilac and wisteria vines curling ungoverned across the rooftop of his father’s workshop.

His mother was particularly fond of the wisteria plants. She took it upon herself to grow them even though they weren’t native to these lands. Tony could still remember the day Howard had returned from a long trading trip through New England carrying a handful of wisteria saplings as a gift to his wife, and Tony would never forget the smile his mother was wearing when she saw it. Maria rarely smiled anymore, but the purple racemes and pinnate leaves with their strange shape and even stranger scent served as a testament to those rare occasions where she had shown true happiness.

Memories of home stirred piecemeal in his unconscious mind. Every scent and every image returning to him as if he was home again, back in the small West Coast riverside village not far off town. Willow-littered stretches of land, paddocks and stockyards lined with stables and sheds housing countless sheep and horses. Hunters and stockmen and woodsmen and blacksmiths quietly partaking in the endless cycle of all-day labor. People pretending to have ordinary lives in a hopeless attempt to forget about the upcoming winters when the beast would return to take another sacrifice, when another young life would be lost.

He remembered his father’s workshop, a barn hidden behind the house that lay a few hundred feet higher than the other buildings, the place where Tony had been spending most of his time since he’d been fourteen. And now, a few years later, he knew the place like the back of his hand – the smell of burning wood, the leather apron, the anvil, the hammer, the sound of gleaming metals hissing when he dropped them in cold water.

He would sometimes see his mother when he stepped outside during the day. Maria, her back turned as she worked dawn to dusk in the house. He remembered her small, delicate presence and her tired, beautiful face, her grey dress and carefully braided hair that was the same color as his own. The only sign of motherly devotion toward her only son was sometimes present in rare gestures, in the slim hands cupping Tony’s face, in the soft loving glimmer in her chestnut eyes. His eyes.

His father wasn't anything like her. Howard almost never talked to him, barely ever looked at him. Tony only saw him in the evenings when Howard returned from work, and he would only talk to Tony to ask him about the smithy, to ask him how many hours he had worked, how many weapons he had made, how many weapons he had managed to sell. Howard had never loved his son, never loved him in all the years ranging from Tony's childhood up to his early adulthood. And Tony had never loved his father. But that was the way of things, and that was also part of what he called home.

It was less painful to remember Rhodey. His childhood friend and a hunter, now well on his way to becoming the best hunter in town. Rhodey, with his bright grin and friendly eyes, the boy who taught him how to handle a rifle, how to hunt, how to stalk and shoot and skin his prey, the friend who would follow him to the end of the world if given the chance. 

There were memories of Steve, the one who served in the voluntary unit on the Western frontier, training to become part of the regular army, which was why Tony rarely ever saw him. They would talk for hours in the evenings when Steve returned from duty, sunburnt and looking a little older than he actually was. Steve would bring him gifts and trinkets from far away places. Sometimes he considered Steve to be more than just a friend, a foolish idea deriving from helpless infatuation. 

But nothing was more painful to remember than Pepper… The mere reminder of her hurt, a feeling manifesting itself in the shape of a gaping woundlike void in his heart. She’s always been there, always by his side when he needed her, like a sister. Red hair and gentle smiles, that’s how Tony saw her, that’s how he remembered her, always visiting him in the smithy in the early mornings to bring him food and fresh clothes for the day before she would ride back into town. She smelled of flowers and fresh soil. She taught him how to ride a horse when he’d been eight and she’d been seven, she never failed to make him smile even in the darkest hours. And he always missed her when she was gone, he missed her more than anything…

“Tony.”

A female voice.

It sounded like Pepper.

The words seemed to reach into his subconscious mind and rip him out of the nameless state between sleep and emptiness only to push him back into the cold embrace of reality. Warm memories were replaced by the scent of fresh snow and gleaming embers, old wood and cold sheets.

The voice sounded like Pepper. Was it Pepper? Was this home?

Did Loki keep his end of the deal after all?

Tony stirred awake, shifted in the sheets. It took him a moment to get a grip on wakefulness, and when he finally managed to open his eyes, he slowly moved to prop himself up on his elbows as he blinked sleep out of his eyes.

There was a girl sitting opposite him on a chair by the bed. Tony stared at her and she looked right back at him with a calm, patient expression.

Red hair. Dark blue dress. But it wasn’t Pepper. This wasn’t home.

He was in a different bed, in a different room, but this was still Jotunheim, with the same snowy plains surrounding the ruins he was trapped in. Tony tried with all his might to ignore the weight of disappointment and the burning jab of devastation in his chest.

“You were out for almost two days,” the girl said. “It’s good to see you awake.”

He blinked again, still not awake enough to notice the heaviness in his limbs, the pain and bruises littering his naked body. His exhaustion must have caught up with him after Loki had left that night, and apparently he'd ended up crying himself to sleep. A very long sleep, it seemed. His face was still streaked with the traces of dried tears, his eyes hurting and bloodshot, and he was aching to wash it all off, to rid himself of all the tears and sweat and blood and anything that could remind him of that night. 

Tony reached up to hug himself, tried to focus on the girl before him. She appeared to be about the same age as him. She had a pretty face, red hair curling past her ears, her expression calm and calculating with a hint of concern lingering beneath well-trained impassiveness. There was something strangely mature and knowing about her eyes. Her hands were neatly folded in her lap as she studied him with her head slightly tilted to one side.

Tony frowned. “Who are you?”

At the sound of his voice which indicated that Tony was more or less alright, a corner of her mouth quirked up in a barely noticeable smile. “My name is Natasha.”

Tony lowered himself back into the sheets a little, his frown deepening, remembering his first trip through the deserted palace. He knew he should feel relieved and grateful at the knowledge that he was no longer alone, but somehow, he didn’t have the strength to feel anything beyond a dull emotionless ache.

“I… I thought there was no one else here.” His throat was dry, his voice breaking halfway through the sentence. He swallowed, tried to speak again. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“That’s because Master Loki didn’t want you to know about me until now.”

Tony stared at her. “You call him Master?”

“Yes. I’m his servant.”

Tony looked away for a moment, his eyes aimlessly darting across the room, before he glanced back at her. “How many more are there?" He sounded almost hopeful.

“There is no one else. It’s just me.”

Tony fell silent for a long moment, his gaze slowly drifting away from her face down to her hands, before it landed on his lap. The fact that he wasn’t alone, the fact that there was another person here with him was more than he could fully grasp...

And it was in that moment that he was starting to become self-conscious about his naked state, his hands automatically gripping the sheets to pull them up to his chest. He realized that she must have been aware of the other night, of what Tony had let the beast do to him. It made his gut twist. The heat of shame and dread rose up his chest and throat and crawled up his cheeks as he recalled what had happened, the things he had said, the things he had done. He felt the phantom trace of Loki’s hands again, the heaviness of the god’s body on top of his own. The intimacy, too strange and too foreign. The warmth he’d previously felt was gone, and all that was left was the familiar feeling of hopelessness, of disgust, the disgust at his own foolishness.

He glanced up at Natasha. Trying to compose himself. To hold himself together. 

He tried to think straight as he studied her. _Natasha_. Her name sounded strange, nothing he’s heard before. But she was human, from the same realm as Tony. And yet for some reason, she seemed to be accepting of her life here, of her life as the beast’s servant. She seemed content with her position, completely loyal to her master. Tony wondered how long she’d been trapped in here.

Tony spoke again, his voice softer this time, quiet. “Were you a sacrifice too?”

The girl studied him calmly. “No.”

Tony frowned. “But you’re human. You’re like me. How else would you end up in a place like this?”

“Why don’t we focus on you first? Master Loki told me to take care of you, so I will. I brought you fresh clothes. There’s the bathroom, so you can get yourself cleaned up.”

Tony shook his head. “You didn’t answer my question.”

She sighed, giving him a strangely sympathetic look. “I was not a sacrifice, if that’s what’s worrying you. He’s my master, my friend, and I’m his right hand. That’s all you need to know about me. Now…” She stood up and placed the neatly folded stack of fresh clothes on the edge of the bed next to Tony’s legs. “Go clean yourself up. I’ll wait here.”

Tony tried to object, but her expression brooked no argument. His shoulders slumped and he gave a shaky, tired sigh. It was no use, so he might as well just follow her orders.

Relenting, he moved to slide off the bed. As soon as his feet hit tile, Tony regretted his decision to try to walk on his own. He must have overestimated his strength, because his legs gave way under him the moment he attempted to put weight on them. With his legs weak from lack of use and malnutrition, Tony collapsed on the ground, the sheets pooling around him as he hissed in pain and frustration, a sharp ache shooting up his spine as a reminder of the night he'd spent with Loki.

“I, uh…” He swallowed, hanging his head as he tried to shift himself into a kneeling position on the floor. “I might need some help over here.”

He soon felt Natasha’s gentle hand on his shoulder, and he couldn’t help but flinch back at first. However, it didn’t take long for him to relax back into her touch, which was strangely warm, human. Familiar.

She helped him up, paying no attention to his nudity or his bruises as she gathered the sheets and draped them over his trembling shoulders before she slipped her arm into the crook of his elbow and guided him toward the bathroom.

Tony took one careful step after another, taking the liberty of supporting his weight on Natasha’s shorter frame.

“I’ll bring you some food after you’re done cleaning yourself. I don’t want you keeling over on me,” she murmured, albeit with unmistakable gentleness and an undercurrent of sympathy tinging her voice.

Tony would have smiled if he had the strength to do so. He simply nodded, grateful when they reached the bathroom.

It was a smaller room, but still far richer and vaster than anything Tony was accustomed to. Large floor-to-ceiling mirrors and heavily curtained windows lined the icy walls, black marble tiles streaked with irregular lines of shimmering gold covering the floor that was dulled by a thin sheen of dust serving as the only sign of age and desertedness. Natasha lead him over to the massive clawfoot bathtub standing in the middle of the room, gently lowering him down on its edge as she proceeded to fill it with hot water.

Tony didn’t speak as he watched her, gripping the bedsheet that was draped over his quivering form. He decided to stay quiet, partly because he was too tired and too weak to keep up a conversation, and partly because he didn’t want to annoy her with his questions. She made quick work of filling up the tub and snatching a couple of large towels from a nearby shelf.

Steam rose up from the water which appeared milky from the liquid soap, the surface rippling gently when Tony dipped one foot into the water, then the other, Natasha’s arm still wrapped around his shoulders for support. Her hands slipped to his own to help him sit down before they let go altogether, letting him settle and lean back in the tub.

“…Thanks,” he muttered, subconsciously pulling his legs up to his chest, his knees peeking out from under the milky surface.

Natasha gave a small nod as she sat down on the edge of the tub. She grabbed a washcloth and dipped it in the water, wetting it before carefully wringing it out. Then she handed it to Tony.

“I’ll go get you something to eat. Will you be alright by yourself?”

Tony nodded, gaze fixed on the washcloth as he gripped it with both hands, staring at it as if he didn’t know what to do with it.

Natasha regarded him for a moment, then slid off the tub's edge and left the bathroom. Tony watched her leave, a strange feeling of desperate longing growing with each step she took, and he couldn’t quite admit to himself that he instantly missed her presence the moment he heard the door close, as if he’d already found a friend in her.


	8. Chapter 8

The white, soapy water turned grey when all the dusty, oily, bloody dirt on his body began to mingle with the liquid. When Tony first reached between his legs, he was horrified to discover the dried blood on his thighs. But there wasn’t much of it, and there was no obvious injury. Aside from the yellowing bruises mottling his hips and thighs, Loki didn’t seem to have done much damage.

The washcloth foamed with generous amounts of soap as Tony cleaned his skin and hair, scrubbing and rinsing and repeating the process until he was sure that there was no trace of the beast left on his body.

But instead of getting out of the tub when he was done, he found himself just sitting there and staring at the water, watching the murky, unrippled surface being rocked by the tiniest movements. His body had returned to full wakefulness, and so did the memories, and blocking them out was becoming more difficult the longer he spent engulfed in silence.

Despair and shame came rushing back into him with a force that twisted him forward, making him curl into himself and hide his face in his knees. He waited for new tears to come, but ended up not shedding a single one. The last few days seemed to have left him drained and unable to cry anymore.

He tried to push his thoughts to the back of his mind, tried to unfeel what he had felt, kept the memories locked away, ignored. He would have stayed in the water until his skin pruned, but he eventually willed himself to get out of the bathtub, using the towels Natasha had left for him to dry himself off. Almost immediately he sought the bedsheet that laid crumpled up on the floor, grabbing it and wrapping it around his trembling frame.

Before heading back out, Tony dared a look in one of the mirrors, and almost didn’t recognize himself. 

He had lost weight, his body looking even smaller now, fragile. Where olive tan muscles had once formed and knotted from working in the smithy, sickly pale skin was now stretching over protruding collarbones and small shoulders. Huge, dark-rimmed eyes stared back at him over sharp cheekbones and chapped lips. He wasn’t old enough to grow facial hair as quickly as other men yet, but there was a slight shadow darkening his cheeks and jaw, adding to the thinness of his face. He looked different, scared and vulnerable. Tony swallowed and looked down, turning away from the mirror and dragging himself toward the door.

He couldn’t help his relief when he saw Natasha sitting on the edge of the bed with her hands folded in her lap, a tray of food resting on the nightstand next to her. So she hadn’t just been a figment of his imagination, thank god.

She offered him a smile. “How are you feeling?”

Tony shrugged. “Better. Could use a shave though,” he attempted to return her smile but ended up clenching his mouth shut in pain as he tried to walk.

His bare feet padding along the surprisingly warm marble floor, Tony carefully made his way over to the bed, but before he could reach it his arm was caught by Natasha. She guided him the rest of the way.

Tony let himself be lowered down onto the bed. He pulled his legs up to bring them closer to his body while still clutching the bedsheet with white-knuckled hands. Without even noticing it, he was beginning to stare at the tray of food, the pain of overwhelming hunger flaring up in his stomach as his body finally awoke to its full senses.

“I hope you brought enough,” he said dully, automatically reaching out to snatch something from one of the various plates when Natasha pushed the tray over to him.

Without a second thought, Tony sank his teeth into some kind of strange looking pear-like fruit. He didn’t care what it was, too hungry to be cautious. A few days ago he would have refused to eat just for spite’s sake, but now he was past the point of wariness and stubborn intent. His body acted of its own accord, reduced to a starved, broken shell.

There was a jug of water which he grabbed and clutched between his shaky hands as he drained its contents, stray droplets dripping down his chin and neck. Tony tried to gulp the water down as quickly as he could, but struggled with the mere task of swallowing the liquid, his throat having become so sore and so parched that the slightest motion hurt.

He hadn’t realized how thirsty he was, how weak and starved after spending such a long time withering in isolation. He was sure that his body had reached its limits, and that he wouldn’t have survived another day without Natasha’s help.

The food had no taste at first. He ate with haste, not so much to savor the meal as to fill an empty stomach. He would’ve wolfed down anything as long as it was edible, but as his hunger slowly began to grow more bearable, the textures and tastes and shapes crystallized into something more perceptible. A closer look at the tray revealed an assortment of fruit and bread and a small bowl of some sort of broth. He didn’t recognize any of the fruit –  purple drupes covered in thin, soft spines with flesh that resembled peaches. Blue, plum-like shapes contained in hard, tangerine cupules, their flesh golden and almost sickly sweet, sweeter than anything Tony had ever tasted. There were grapes that weren’t actually grapes, black on the outside and blue on the inside, both sweet and acidic in taste, the berries attached to weirdly shaped yet perfectly symmetrical pedicels. And what Tony found himself liking the most was a large, round fruit that was almost like an orange but larger in size, pure white in color with a pinkish, sweet pulp that ran down his fingers when he gobbled it down.

When every last plate was empty, Tony clumsily wiped his arm over his mouth and chin, a pleasantly painful heaviness settling in his stomach. Natasha hadn't brought too much food on account of him being too starved and therefore unable to eat large amounts, but he still wished there was more.

Natasha gave him a small smile when he’d finished eating and stood up, grabbing the clothes she had brought him earlier.

“Here, put these on.”

Tony looked up at her dully, big eyes resting on her face and then on the stack of folded clothes. And then he slowly rose to his feet, his legs now a little steadier, and slipped off the bedsheet. She handed him a pair of black trousers, a dark-grey button up shirt and a pair of sturdy leather boots. He was surprised to find that he didn’t need anything else because he was no longer freezing like he had done when he was first brought to Jotunheim. Natasha wasn’t wearing more than a simple dress, so the cold didn’t seem to affect her either. Tony didn’t ask why, assuming that it had something to do with Loki’s magic.

Cleaned up and fully dressed, Tony felt slightly more like himself again. The clothes were a perfect fit, and he remembered with dismay that there had been other sacrifices here before him, and that these clothes had most likely belonged to one of them. Tony tried not to think about it and accepted them wordlessly.

“You’ve been in bed for quite some time,” Natasha said. “I think we should go for a walk.”

Tony hesitated, feeling strangely safe and perfectly fine with staying in this room. But he knew she was right, and his body was aching for something to get the feebleness out of his limbs. He accepted her offer with a slight nod and relinquished himself to her steady grip as they left the room.

They took a stroll through the hallways, but didn’t venture outside because Tony was too weak to walk longer distances. So they simply walked up and down the dark, heigh-ceilinged corridor, Natasha’s supporting arms never leaving his own. Tony wasn’t paying any attention to his surroundings this time, focusing instead on the continual task of placing one foot in front of the other, as if trying to learn how to walk again. They didn’t talk, despite the many questions teeming in his head. He thought it best to remain silent for now, keeping his thoughts to himself.

 

* * *

 

It was the same routine the next day and the day after that. Natasha’s chief priority was to take care of him, to make sure that he ate and slept and regained his strength. And at first, Tony was too weak to do anything else, sleeping at least ten hours at a stretch and eating every bit of the food Natasha would bring him on a regular basis. The only other activity was the obligatory walk they would take every day, venturing further each time.

On the second day he was starting to look better, the sickly pallor giving way to color, a pink hue returning to his cheeks. On the third day, his collarbones were no longer protruding, the dark circles under his eyes fading. He could move around and walk again without requiring Natasha to be there every step of the way.

The last thing he wanted was to be confronted with the beast again, but he didn’t see Loki once. And it was in Loki’s continuos absence that Tony was beginning to feel slightly more at ease, no longer on edge, the pain in his heart not yet fully gone but subsiding to a certain degree. But somehow, it appeared that Loki was staying away on purpose. Maybe because he wanted to let Natasha do her work, to give Tony some time and space to heal…

But Tony knew that couldn’t be true. Loki wouldn’t care that much. There had to be another explanation for the god’s absence— disinterest, indifference, things that made a lot more sense.

On the third day Tony and Natasha began to exchange more words than usual, which eventually sprouted into short bits of conversation. Natasha was keeping him from getting lost in thought, distracting him whenever he was on the verge of getting consumed in painful memory. And soon enough, there was the occasional smile on Tony’s face again, the rare mindless joke thrown here and there when they would talk about irrelevant things. However, they both refrained from mentioning anything remotely concerning Loki, Natasha’s past or the sacrifices, and Natasha never shared any information beyond what he already knew.

But on the fourth day, Tony began to ask questions.

They were sitting in silence by the fireplace in what had become Tony’s room, Natasha in a wing chair drawn close to the fire, and Tony leaning against it with his legs crossed as he sat on a fur rug on the floor. She had brought books to keep Tony occupied, Loki’s books, their heavy covers and spines faded and bent from age, the parchment pages worn from constant use. Some of them were written in Tony’s native language, while the rest were filled with cryptic symbols, graphemes and ligatures adding up to form languages from other realms.

Tony had been idly leafing through a book that lay fanned open over his lap, but he was no longer focusing on the words. His gaze had drifted off to the flames, resting on the flickering lambent crests, before he glanced up at Natasha, studying her for a moment before he spoke.

“Do you remember any of the other sacrifices?"

Natasha had been reading, but now her eyes had stopped, staring down at the page as she contemplated her response. Then she sighed and looked up from her book.

“Barely. There had been so many I lost count.”

“And I’m assuming Loki made you take care of them too?”

Natasha’s eyes hardened somewhat as she looked down at him. “He didn’t, actually.” She glanced down at her hands. “I never dealt with them because they never survived longer than a few days. You’re actually the first sacrifice I have ever spoken to, let alone spent time with.”

Tony looked away, not saying anything for a long moment as he focused his attention back on the fire. So far, he had survived longer than the others, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t end up just like them. Because none of them had lived, none of them had been let free, so why would he be any different? He was being taken care of for now, but maybe it was just a temporary arrangement. He had no reason to believe that there was even a shred of hope for him, and Natasha’s words only seemed to bear it out.

“…It’s beyond me how you can still consider him your friend, after everything he had done,” Tony said quietly, without looking at her.

There was a long silence that eventually prompted him to look back up at Natasha, to find her looking down at her hands again. Usually, it was impossible to tell from her face what she was thinking, but now her mouth was pressed into a thin line, the unknown emotion a marked contrast to her normally calm expression. Tony had never seen her like this before, thoughtful and absorbed in some distant memory.

“He has blood on his hands, I am aware of that. Nothing can justify what he had done to those people,” she said eventually. “But I am willing to look past that because he was the first person to ever treat me with kindness, the first person I could call a friend. And if you knew what happened to him in the past, you’d understand why he did what he did.”

Tony huffed bitterly, shaking his head. “No. I really don’t think I would.”

Another stretch of silence, but when Natasha spoke again, her voice was gentle, yet insistent.

“I know he has hurt you, Tony, but he is not heartless. When you slept, he took care of you. He carried you into this room and healed your injuries. And when your body was starting to shut down from hunger and thirst, Master Loki kept you alive. Never once have I seen him treat the other sacrifices like he treats you.”

Of all the things she could have said, that was the least expected. Tony stared up at her, his fingers tense around the edges of his book. He didn’t know what to think, what to say. He didn’t know how to fit this knowledge in with his perception of Loki, how to introduce this new, nameless feeling into the sorrow occupying his heart.

But her words didn’t seem to find a place in his mind, darting aimlessly back and forth in his head, until Tony gave up trying to form a response. So, after giving her a long searching look, he turned away without saying a word, his eyes drifting down to his hands as he let silence settle around them once more.


	9. Chapter 9

Their quiet, well-established routine continued without another mention of Loki’s name. Days had turned into weeks, and Tony had long since stopped asking questions, hoping to find comfort in ignorance.

His focus was beginning to pivot toward his physical recovery, but time did little to heal his inner wounds. For a while he had tried to reconcile himself to the idea of Loki saving his life, tried to make sense of the sudden display of sympathy, but there seemed to be no reasonable explanation as to why Loki would do something like this, why he would go out of his way to save Tony’s life right after crushing his hope. Maybe there was nothing to comprehend, no logic to be applied, so he stopped trying to understand Loki’s motivations or his own feelings, and he never talked to Natasha about it again.

But try as he did to keep his thoughts detached from memory, too often he would find himself remembering Loki’s touch, the feeling of heat and closeness and naked skin, the opposite extremes of hating it and wanting it all at the same time. And nothing was worse than regret itself, the thing that preyed on him every second of every day. More often than not he would remember that night, the way he had given himself over, the  _stupid_ , foolish belief that he could change Loki’s mind. And he would replay it in his mind over and over wishing for it to end, only for it to start all over again.

Tony was afraid that once he started crying, he wouldn’t be able to stop. There hadn’t been a moment when he wasn’t on the very verge of breaking down. Just a push, a little reminder, that’s all it would take to tear down the mental barrier and let the torrent come through. That’s why he didn’t want to see Loki again. It would break him.

So he fought it, the conglomeration of memories that furled and unfurled somewhere in the back of his mind, some of them so vivid and sudden they became some kind of unreality, while others thrummed quietly beneath the surface of awareness, always trying to keep themselves known. And sometimes he couldn’t fight them. Sometimes he felt Loki’s grip on his hips and the weight of his body, only to remind himself that Loki wasn’t there, hadn’t been there since he had left that night.

But at least he wasn’t alone in moments like these, because that’s when Natasha would be there to wrap Tony up in her arms and just sit there quietly until he felt fine again. She made him feel safe, at ease, something he knew he would be eternally grateful for. Though he didn’t know what to think of her loyalty towards Loki, he still considered her a friend. Because she made him find solace in her closeness, in their meaningless conversations and the silence they shared. Because she was the one who had kept him alive.

She was the reason that at least his physical well-being was improving. As the days progressed, he was starting to feel more or less rested. Sleep wasn’t as big an issue as it used to be during the first week. It was getting easier for him to fall asleep every night, and it was always a deep, dreamless sleep stretching on for long periods of time, the kind of sleep that left him dizzy but well-rested in the mornings.

His inner distress didn’t seem to affect his eating habits either. Natasha would bring him food at least twice a day and he would eat every bit of it, albeit with difficulty. The food had long since lost its taste, and he didn’t know why he even bothered to eat at all, but perhaps it was one of Loki’s spells that didn’t allow him to starve, the same kind of spell that seemed to protect him from the winter cold. So in the end, Tony had no trouble returning to his usual weight in the matter of a week. His pallor was gone after two weeks, his bruises only visible if he looked close enough.

When Tony had fully recovered by the end of the third week, Natasha began to take him on longer walks. And one day, she decided to take him outside for the very first time.

She woke him up in the morning, waited for him to get dressed, but instead of following their usual routine, she put a warm blanket over Tony’s shoulders and ushered him outside to lead him toward a large, dark flight of stairs they usually avoided.

The stairs led up to a short, narrow hallway on the highest floor. The hallway ended at an old wrought-iron gate leading outside onto what he assumed to be a balcony. With a gentle push of Natasha’s hand, the gate swung open as she stepped aside to let Tony go through first.

That’s when he found himself standing in the palace garden for the first time, an enormous platform encompassed by a parapet of ice and stone. And what he saw there was nothing short of breathtaking.

He hadn’t thought it possible at first, but there was life capable of surviving the eternal winters of Jotunheim. With the familiar snowy wasteland rolling off behind the balcony railing, the palace garden seemed out of place and like a world of its own.

The first time Tony had been brought to the garden, he had spent hours examining the flowering plants, shrubs and canopies made of beautifully symmetrical blossoms that were cold to the touch, like tiny blades of ice. There were small trees carrying the same type of fruit Natasha would bring him every day. There were flowers he had never seen before, plants that were probably being kept alive by magic, with black stems and iridescent petals colored in shades of blue ranging from pale to bright, from dark blue to azure, from velvety black to cyan. Every flower seemed to emit a strange glow, so it was never really dark in the garden, even at night.

Tony didn’t know why, but he felt safe there. Maybe because the garden reminded him of something familiar, even though it looked nothing like the warm summerly orchards and blooming trees he knew so well. Maybe it was the fact that there was a tiny trace of life in an otherwise dead world. Whatever it was, it was enough to keep his thoughts averted for a little while.

And yet still, it wasn't enough.

He knew she was just trying to help him. The garden, the conversations, all an effort to help Tony heal. And he was grateful for it, grateful that he wasn't alone, that there was someone there to save him from his own mind.

But even in the most peaceful moments, something always felt wrong, a heavy feeling that consumed his every waking moment, like a knife stuck between his ribs at all times. And the feeling grew stronger every day.

The feeling that he couldn’t keep hiding from reality forever.

For weeks now Tony had been lying to himself, pretending like everything was fine, when in reality he was just prolonging the inevitable. 

He couldn’t keep hiding from the truth, and the truth was simple —he would have to confront Loki eventually.

Tony didn’t have anything to say to him, and yet at the same time, he wanted to tell him everything _._ Everything, every question that needed answering, all those bitter words accumulating and growing more desperate as time went on. Tony didn’t know what he would tell him, what he would ask him once he actually stood before him, and yet he could perfectly picture every reproachful, hateful word he had wanted to say to him from the very beginning. 

“I need to talk to him.”

Tony had said those words one day without really thinking, but he knew they needed to be said. It was an early morning, and he and Natasha were heading toward the garden like they always did. He was gripping his blanket with both hands, pulling it tight around his shoulders and looking down at the ground as they walked.

Natasha frowned and looked up at Tony with a genuinely worried expression, not having expected him to suggest something like that. “Are you sure?”

He didn’t respond to her question right away. He could tell her the truth and say that he wasn’t sure. That he wasn’t sure about anything anymore. He could tell her that he was terrifiedof being in a room with Loki. But after several weeks of uncertainty, after several weeks of not knowing what would happen next, he was beginning to grow tired of avoiding what needed to be done.

He’d made up his mind. As much as he would have liked to keep up this routine for as long as he was trapped here, he knew he couldn’t go on like this forever.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Tony said. He glanced up at her, saw her concern. He tried to smile to give her some sort of reassurance, but all he managed to do was mirror her anxious, doubtful expression. “Will you lead me to him?”

Natasha bit her lip, hesitated. And then she nodded.

  

* * *

 

The next day, she did as she had promised.

She led Tony through what seemed like a maze of unfamiliar corridors, through parts of the structure he hadn’t seen before, to a set of rooms that seemed to be located at the farthest end of the palace. It truly seemed as if Loki had genuinely intended to make sure they never crossed paths.

Tony hadn’t said a word the entire time, his hands curled into fists as he kept his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. It's been weeks, but the memories were still there, the fear still fresh, and the urge to turn around grew stronger the longer he walked. The need to go back, to return to the comfort of familiar, uncomplicated quietness was unbearable. But the need to find answers, the need to confront the very thing he had been running from was even worse.

When they finally arrived at the various rooms, Natasha stepped toward one of the doors, her hand resting on the handle, hesitating. Loki was in that room and she was worried, worried what would happen if Tony saw him after such a long time.

She looked up at him. “Maybe it’s best if we go back.”

Tony glanced away, gave a half-shrug that looked more tense than he had intended.

“I'll be fine. I’ll go.”

The pure, concerned sympathy Tony had grown so used to was back in Natasha’s eyes, and her hand didn’t move where it lay on the door handle as she waited, hoping for him to change his mind. 

But Tony just stood there waiting for her to open the door, so she sighed and took his hand, more for comfort than anything else, and gently pulled him along as she entered the room.

It was a dark, large room partly submerged in shadow and partly illuminated by columns of grey daylight. Naked walls rose up toward a high ceiling, flames dancing in a fireplace. At the far end of the room, Tony could make out the beast’s tall form silhouetted against faint light filtering in through the windows. He could see Loki’s profile from the distance, the usual calm expression, the familiar impassiveness.

Tony could hear Natasha talk, he could hear her tell her master that Tony wanted to speak to him, but he barely registered her words, his attention already fixed on the god.

“Thank you, Natasha,” Loki said quietly, without looking away from the window. “I’m assuming Anthony wants to be alone with me.”

Natasha understood the order and bowed her head. She let go of Tony’s hand, turned around and walked out of the room. The door gently closed behind her. 

And the moment she was gone, Tony felt her absence with an immediate sharpness. The harsh awareness that he was alone now, here, alone with the beast.


	10. Chapter 10

“I’m glad you’re back on your feet, little one.”

Tony could hear the usual disinterest in Loki's voice. The god still wasn’t looking at him, keeping his face turned toward the window. Tony wanted to say something, but couldn’t articulate a single word. He stood there unmoving like a frightened animal, his small form frozen in front of the looming wall by the door, the words suffocated right out of him by a state of immobile stupor.

All this time, throughout all those weeks, he had been waiting for a chance to put his misery into words, but now he was failing to form even the simplest thoughts. All he could do was stare at the beast standing by the window, with his familiar fur cloak, the black horns curling above dark locks, the tall posture swallowed by shadow.

The very sight of Loki seemed to transport him back into that bedroom on that very night, as if all those weeks of recovery hadn’t existed at all. It was like being presented with every memory all at once, like having a poorly-healed wound torn right open.

His hands curled into themselves, nails biting deeply into his palms. He couldn’t see Loki’s face, not with the god’s form half-obscured by gaping darkness in the far end of the room, but he suddenly felt like he could perfectly recall the red eyes and sharp features, as if Loki was standing right here in front of him.

“Natasha seems to be taking good care of you. She likes you, which is surprising, considering her nature,” Loki continued, as if they were having an ordinary conversation.

Tony could hardly hear him over the blood roaring in his ears. His body was a raw nerve, laid bare for the pent-up agony straining its way back up his senses. Now that he had abandoned the comfort of Natasha's presence, he felt exposed, vulnerable in the face of reality. Because Loki was here, he was right here, the source of his pain that hadn't gone anywhere, perfectly existent no matter how hard Tony had tried to ignore the very thought of him.

Tony suddenly forgot why he came here. The broken, irrational part of him slowly took over, and all he could do was let himself be carried away with it. When he found his voice again, when he finally managed to say something, the words rolled right off his tongue, words he could hear himself saying without knowing what he was actually saying.

“It almost amazes me,” he began slowly, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes burning with tears he didn’t know were there. “how you can act as if nothing had happened.”

This time, Loki turned to look at him. His body remained partly hidden by a wall of shadow, merging into the darkness as if he was made of it. The crimson eyes studied him with the same calm curiosity Tony had seen so many times before.

He was looking at Tony as if they barely knew each other.

As if he had conveniently forgotten about their agreement, about the indescribable pain Tony had been left with all those weeks ago.

Tony stepped forward, walking slowly toward the beast even though he felt unsteady on his feet. The air had never seemed colder, the pain in his chest heavier. His hands trembled at his sides as he stared at Loki, wide glassy eyes brimming with unshed tears. He was still the heartbroken, confused mess Loki had left behind in that bedroom, and the past few weeks had done nothing to change that. His pain hadn’t gone anywhere. Instead, it had been gathered up and crammed away to be forgotten and ignored, twisted into an overwound spring ready to snap at any moment. And now, it finally uncoiled, spilling free.

All that effort, all that work Natasha had put into patching him back up, all of it had been for nothing.

“It’s been weeks, Loki, but nothing has changed. I’m still here.” The words were tumbling from his mouth and there was nothing he could do to stop it. “Tell me, what do I have to do to make you keep your promises?”

Loki didn’t respond. Tony walked closer until they stood only a few feet apart — too close, but he hardly noticed.

“I’ve fulfilled my end of our bargain, haven’t I? And yet I’m still a prisoner, still kept in here like a dog,” Tony said through gritted teeth. He didn’t think, didn’t try to put effort into the way he presented his rawest feelings. “I have given you everything, _everything_ there was to give. What else could you possibly want from me?”

The tears began to fall, tears he had been holding in for weeks, hot and burning and bitter as they spilled. He didn’t know what he had been expecting when he came here, but it wasn’t _this_. He had been hoping to find answers, to finally confront Loki with common civility, but all Tony could do was let himself come undone.

He walked right up to Loki and stood so close to him that he had to crane his neck to meet his gaze. He hadn’t seen Loki in so long, but here he was, still calm, still unchanged. He looked exactly like Tony remembered, with the same indiscernible expression he had been wearing when he had left Tony crying on his bed.

“Was one night not enough? Did I not satisfy you? Is that why you went back on your promise?” Tony urged, wide eyes filled with tears hovering on the brink. He searched Loki’s gaze and saw nothing, _nothing_ , no understanding, no remorse, not a hint of regret or a change of heart. Loki wasn’t saying a word as he looked down at the youth, and it hurt, it hurt right down to his soul because Loki didn’t care, never did, never would.

His silence drove Tony to the edge of composure, and before he knew it, he could feel himself tipping right over. As if the previous weeks had never existed, as if he hadn’t been spending endless days trying to heal, Tony finally gave in, gave up, succumbing to the pain.

He pushed himself up on his tiptoes — mimicking the first time they had shared that barely existent kiss — and swung his arms up to pull Loki down by the back of his neck. And he kissed Loki, clumsy and desperate, his trembling hands groping to keep a hold on Loki’s hair.

It felt like he had never known Natasha, like she had never been there for him, like he had never spent time in the quiet safety of the garden, far away from pain and trouble. All those weeks, eradicated. All he felt was the fresh wound Loki had left behind, as if it had happened just yesterday.

Tony broke away, panting, trembling. “Is this what you want?” He didn’t wait for a response, didn’t even pay attention to Loki’s reaction as he leaned in again and again, tears streaking his cheeks as he kissed Loki over and over with harsh words breathed in between. “Do you want me to keep offering myself to you?” Another kiss. “Until you’re finally satisfied enough to let me go?”

Tony pulled away only to lean in again, delivering a string of desperate, urgent kisses, his fingers tangling and tugging at Loki’s hair as he pressed his lips to a cold mouth. Loki didn't kiss back, and somewhere in the back of his mind Tony knew he was acting pathetic, but there was nothing else he could do. This was all he had left.

“You can have me right here, right now,” Tony breathed, fresh tears falling. Loki stared back at him with an expression Tony had never seen before. It looked almost like pity, but it was hard to tell through the haze of jumbled nonsense clouding his judgement. Loki was looking at him like one would look at an injured animal, and it only confused Tony, making everything all the more painful. “I’ll be good, Loki. I won’t disappoint you this time. You can bend me over and have me right here, in every way you want. I won’t scream, I won't cry, I promise. It won’t hurt the second time, I know it won’t…”

“Anthony...”

“Tell me, Loki,  _tell me_ if this is what you want…”

No response. Tony gave a pitiful sound and kissed him again in sheer frustration. Loki never kissed him back, didn’t even put his hands on him. Tony’s hands fisted in Loki’s hair, pulling, tugging, trying to force a response. He could taste his own tears, but he didn’t stop kissing Loki, he didn’t stop trying. He felt like he was losing his mind.

“Anthony,” Loki repeated, pushed gently at his hips. “That’s enough.”

Tony didn’t let go. He shook his head weakly, helplessly, hands still scrambling to keep a hold on him.

“Please, Loki, I can do better this time…”

“There is nothing you can do,” Loki said softly, untangling Tony’s weak fingers from around his neck and stepping back.

Tony’s hands fell to his sides as he stood there like a lost child — sniffling, disheveled, dry sobs shaking his body. His lips were red and bruised, wet streaks lining his face. And Loki was watching him with a pitying gentleness, a strange kind of sympathy Tony had never seen before.

Tony sucked in a breath, stifling a sob. He stared up at the god, and all he could find were the usual calm, obscure pools of crimson he was so familiar with. Only this time, he was met with an expression so gentle, so pitying, so different, that Tony didn’t know what to do with it. It only seemed unnecessarily cruel, reaching right into his heart and giving it a brutal twist.

And bit by bit, the brittle foundation of rational thought crumbled away until it finally slipped from his grasp, and he was left to deteriorate into pure despair right before Loki’s eyes.

Tony broke down, no longer having any control over himself. All the pain he had been cultivating over the past few weeks erupted in an onrush of anguished, bitter tears. His body shook as he drew one sobbing breath after another, his voice nothing but a quivering, suffocated whisper. 

“You said you would let me go. You said... you  _promised_... You wanted me to prove my worth to you, and I did, I _tried_ …” 

“I know," Loki said quietly, still with that unfamiliar gentleness tinging his voice. “But it is a promise I can’t keep.”

Tony's sobs became harder. His face twisted, brows drawn low over brown eyes, the tears streaming so persistently that he wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to stop them.

“I was such an idiot...” Tony exhaled a shaky, derisive laugh. "You were lying to me from the start, and I knew, I _knew_ , but I didn’t want to believe it...”

A violent sob tore from his chest, stealing his breath. His trembling hands flew up to his face, his cheeks burning from the salty, stinging rivulets streaming uninterrupted. He looked miserable, tiny, his face reduced to huge, red-rimmed eyes, his hunched shoulders shuddering with every breath he took. He wasn’t himself in that moment, but rather the broken, shrunken result of all the torment he had been going through, of all the suffering that was finally catching up to him after he had blocked it out for so long.

“You’ve been lying to me from the moment I first saw you,” Tony gritted his teeth against the onslaught of tears. “I wanted to believe — I _needed_ to believe that you were telling the truth, that I would go home one day, but you were never even planning on letting me go, no matter what I’d do, no matter how hard I’d try... I was so _stupid_...”

Loki watched him silently, seemingly unaffected by the hatred lacing Tony’s every word. Tony glared up at him through a burning wet blur, and all he could do was give way to the anger and contempt writhing inside him.

Because now, after having lived in denial for so many weeks, he finally understood that he would be trapped in here forever.

He would never go home again. He would never see his family again.

“I knew I couldn’t trust you, I knew, and _still_ something possessed me to believe you, to buy into that meaningless offer you made me, to give myself to you like the delusional _idiot_ I am —“

He heard Loki say something, could hear him speak with unwavering calmness. “I’m sorry you see it that way, little one,” he stepped a little closer to Tony, as if trying to soothe him. "But I want you to know that it was never my intention to hurt you."

Tony immediately flinched back, his eyes wide and bright with resentment. “That is the _only_ intention you ever seemed to have!“ Hate continued to seep into his voice, filling it with a caustic bitterness that had never been there before. “You knew I was desperate, and you gave me false hope just so you could watch me make a fool of myself—“

“It is not as simple as that,” Loki said quietly.

“You _used_ me —”

“Anthony...”

Tony shook his head, delirious, blind, his voice loud and strained with a desperate fierceness. “You took my freedom when you found me in that forest and you never intended to give it back! You let me starve and rot away in isolation, and you waited until it broke me, until I was willing to do  _anything_ to leave this godforsaken place! You took advantage of me and just _left_ , you left me there crying and bleeding and wishing I was never alive! You took everything from me, you used me, and then left me to pick up the pieces!” Tony's voice fell as suddenly as it had risen, his eyes large and full of misery as his next words were uttered in nothing more than a weak whisper. "...And after all of that, you didn’t even have the courtesy to let me die.”

For the first time since Tony had met him, Loki seemed at a loss for words. They lapsed into leaden silence as they stood there staring at each other. Loki visibly hesitated, as if trying to come up with another meaningless justification for his lies, his empty promises. But this time, he said nothing. Instead, something else stirred in his eyes and slowly took shape, something that made Loki look almost human, offering a glimpse at the man he used to be a very long time ago.

Regret.

But Tony didn't see it. He interpreted his silence as yet another taunt, attributing it to Loki's lack of compassion. He was completely oblivious to the obvious change in the god's expression, in his voice, his words, his entire demeanour. Loki was changing, had been changing ever since the night he had left Tony in that bed, but Tony couldn't see it, didn't want to see it. Because in his mind, Loki was incapable of empathy. Because anything Loki said or did could only be meant to cause harm.

Because Loki couldn't possibly have a heart.

Loki was a monster. Nothing more than a monster.

Tony gazed down, turned away. He couldn't look at him, didn’t want to look at him ever again. He didn’t want to see him, or hear his voice, or be reminded of him in any way. He had all the answers he needed now. There was no way out, no more agreements to be made. He would stay here forever, that was the reality he was living in, that was the only truth worth knowing.

No words could describe the pain that mounted in Tony's chest. The absolute, defeatist despair in his heart was new and unbearable.

Because Loki would never let him go. He would stay here forever. He had always known this, had been aware of it for a long time, but now it seemed to finally sink in.

Tony walked away with his arms wrapped around himself. His legs felt on the verge of giving out. The tears didn't stop coming, forming two continuous lines across his cheeks. Without thinking, without saying another word, he moved toward the door, wanting to leave, wanting nothing more than to _leave_.

“Anthony, wait." 

Tony didn't stop, didn't look at him. The warmth in Loki's voice felt like a stab to the heart. It couldn't be genuine, it couldn't be real.

But Loki kept talking.

“I shouldn’t have lied to you. I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you.”

His voice carried what could only be described as pure, genuine remorse. There was humanity and a gentleness in Loki's words that shouldn’t be there, a kindness that should have died a long time ago. But it was there, it was undeniably there, too real to be a lie.

Tony felt himself slow to a halt, his back turned to Loki, his hands clenched into fists. He stared at the ground, no longer trying to leave the room, but not turning around to look at the god either.

And then, Loki said something Tony hadn't thought he would ever hear him say.  

“Forgive me.”


End file.
